The Sunday Mail
The late ‘‘Queen of Mbira’’, Chiwoniso Maraire, is an iconic artiste that the nation – and the world -will never forget, but to me, she remained that humble sister.
When the news leaked to me that ‘‘Sista Chi’’ – as we affectionately called her – had been promoted to glory on July 24, 2013, my world came to a halt. I couldn’t believe it.
Then, I only thought of one person who could confirm this sad news – Chido Musasiwa-Gutu – and when she confirmed that it was true, I felt like a part of me had gone with her.
I still remember fondly the little times we shared together – though most of them were work-related – I always appreciated being in her company.
Let me take you back to what connected me to Sista Chi.
More than 10 years ago, my late mother used to talk warm-heartedly of Sista Chi’s late mother – how much she missed her, especially the good times they shared together growing up as neighbours in Masvingo. To me it seemed Sista Chi’s mother was the only true friend she had.
So when my journalism career began and I started to meet the who-is-who in the showbiz industry, I was determined to meet and chat with Sista Chi. When we finally met, I couldn’t get the story that I really wanted to write about as emotions got the better of me.
One thing that still gives me comfort to this day is the fact that I told her about my mother and how much she spoke about her own mother. It was an emotional moment as I narrated my story to Sister Chi.
Her performances at the Book Café drew me to the joint to the point of falling in love with it. I wouldn’t miss her show for anything.
I am not ashamed to call myself a Chiwoniso fanatic that I have invested in all her music I can lay my hands on.
The last show of hers that I attended was at the Book Café in May 2013 when she shared the stage with the Mbira Queen, Ambuya Stella Chiweshe. The joint was full as expected and when I tried having a chat with her, she just said to me, “I am late to go on stage, let’s chat later”.
Though I was convinced that she would see me after her performance, somehow my heart sank when I looked at how pale her face was, her lips were dry – not from hunger, of course – and she had visibly shed some weight. The Chi I saw that day was different from the bubbly Chi I was used to.
I didn’t need a doctor to tell me that Sista Chi was not well. I sat through the MbiraVolution question and answer session. After the session, I thought I would speak with my dear sister, but couldn’t get the chance because she was overwhelmed with the media and friends. So I let her be. But I so much wanted to ask her what was wrong with her?
Despite the ill signs written all over her face, she managed to put up a sterling performance. When she performed ‘‘Mai Fambai Zvakanaka’’, her voice merged in through my ears to reach the depth of my soul as I sang along. She played the mbira with technical flair and energy.
Not that I didn’t enjoy all her songs, but I enjoyed this particular one because it holds a deeper meaning to me. Even her facial expression when she performed the song, registered a huge picture of nostalgia and attachment to her late mother.
Sista Chi’s voice still haunts me to the extent that even her untimely death has failed to diffuse the meaning of her lyrics. To me, the humble Sister Chi never died because “sometimes I hear her voice!”
